Lord Arry
by valonqar
Summary: Scowling, she watched with slight amusement clear in her eyes as he rubbed the red mark on his forehead where she'd hit him. 'Same old 'Arry,' he thought to himself, 'only this Arry has teats.'   gendryxarya sansan minor jonxdany future two-shot


_Hey guys! This is just a quick two-shot about Arya x Gendry, one of my ASoIaF OTP's (love them). It also includes some SanSan, and minor snippets of Jon x Dany, but that's _minor_, so if you don't like them it shouldn't affect the story too much. This is set around ten years after the first book, so Arya's about eighteen and Gendry's around thirty._

The night was dark, and the air was cold, and as he rode he _thought_.

He was a lone traveler, having left his companions in the last city they passed, but it didn't worry him as it might have ten years ago. Now that the Dragon Queen ruled the Seven Kingdoms, there had been a great deal more safety, and an even greater deal less fear. Whereas before riding in a group of a thousand wouldn't be risky, Gendry didn't mind risking the short trek to Winterfell on his lonesome.

In any light, it gave him time to focus on his thoughts. They weren't lovely, but they were the only companions he had, and ones which had been neglected for far too long. He was not trained to think. Gendry had known this fact his whole life, as did anyone who had met him. But now he was forced to think, and he was finding it was not such a bad thing after all.

He thought of food, of feasts and wine and all the ale a man could want. He thought of warmth, of course, because on nights in the far North warmth was a rarity, and one he craved. He thought of the men he'd lost, the one's he'd seen die in war, from hunger, fear, and even the men who had died at his own had. He thought of many things, but most of all he thought of _her_.

Would she have changed much? He certainly hoped not, because although she had not been the most comely of girls, and even though she was a complete pest, he had seen Arya as a great friend, possible one of the best he had made in all his years, and of years he now had many. Her sister Lady Sansa had inherited the city, rebuilt it to its former glory, and was loved greatly by all. Sweet Lady Sansa, they called her, but she did not rule alone. She shared the land with her shocking choice of a husband, the hound Sandor Clegane, yet had also chosen to give as much power to her sister.

_Lady Arya Stark, _he thought, and couldn't help but laugh. She was not a lady, that one, nor had she ever been in anything but name. There was narry a drop of ladies blood in her body, from what he remembered. She was rough instead of gentle, hard instead of soft, and rude where other ladies had grace. Trying to imagine her ruling Winterfell nearly made him fall off his horse he was laughing so hard, and Gendry found himself wiping tears out of the corners of his eyes.

Ah, how he had missed her.

Lady Sansa stood at the gates of Winterfell with her Lord husband, every bit as lovely as the songs had said. At first sight he had the overwhelming feeling of _power, _but at the same time a gentle grace that he knew made her just as dangerous as powerful. The Hound, Lord of Winterfell stood behind her, face as hideous as he remembered, but somehow...softer. He supposed it was his wife who had caused such a change. They were an unusual pair, yes, but it was clear in his eyes that he loved her all the same, and she him. The people worshiped the two in any case, so Gendry had no choice but to assume they were happy.

Dismounting his horse, he approached the two with a polite smile. "M'lady," he bowed, kissing her hand gently. "M'lord." To Clegane he gave a deep bow, still as terrified of the man as he had been when he was a boy. "I thank you for welcomin' me so kindly into your home." Gendry wasn't well practiced on speaking to high folk, so his voice sounded strained and unnatural, but Sansa smiled kindly.

"My sister wished it," she said simply, slight amusement playing on her lips. "And as I'm sure you learned in your travels, she is accustomed to receiving what she wishes, whether it is given to her or whether she must take it by her own hands." Her husband let out a gruff sound of agreement, and Gendry chuckled knowingly. That certainly sounded like the 'Arry he knew.

"She teaches in the fields, just down this path," the Sweet Lady told him, pointing in the direction of a tall grass. "Best you meet her there, but wait until she has finished her lessons. My lovely sister does not take well to introductions." With a light smile and a swift curtsy she was off on the arm of her Lord husband, leaving Gendry to walk lone to his long-lost friend.

It was not a far walk to the place where he was directed, but he was hindered by the tall grass growing atop the path. Muttering curses as he went, it took him nearly thrice as long as it should have, and by the time he had arrived at the place of lessons children were running about, clearly dismissed. _Sword lessons_, he thought with a knowing smirk. Leave it to Lady Arry to teach the little ones how to fight like a Lord._ Lord Arry, that's what they should call her,_ and it was with this thought in his mind that his name was called.

And it was with that thought that he saw her.

She had not grown in stature much from their last meeting. At one-and-nine years, she was just a few hairs taller than she had been before, at least a head and a half shorter than himself. But she had grown in chest and hips, developing a woman's figure that made any notions of calling her "Lord" seem absurd. Her face was still long and lean, but her cheekbones were sharp and her features elegant, lips quirked with confidence and excitement. And her hair, longer than her sister's, was braided and fell nearly to her hips, swaying as she stepped towards him.

He scarce noted any of that, however. What he saw were her eyes, eyes that took over her whole face in such a way that would give her the gentle innocence of a child, were they not so hard and sharp. They were smiling there, but the fierceness was still there, the fierceness of the wolf inside her. _She-Wolf_, that was what the people had named here, and deep inside her eyes, that was what she was._ Wolf. _

"Arry?" he said wonderingly, eyes wide. "I mean...m'lady." Dropping to his knees in front of her, he looked down at the ground beneath her feet and tried to ignore the feelings her eyes and stirred into him. _Those damned eyes_. "S'honor to see you 'gain, m'lady."

_Whack._

She stood above him with a tourney sword in her hand, which he assumed must have been what she had smacked him 'cross the head with. Scowling, she watched with slight amusement clear in her eyes as he rubbed the red mark on his forehead where she'd hit him. _Same old 'Arry,_ he thought to himself, _only this Arry has teats._

"Do you want your head on a spike?" she asked him, a thin smile pulling at her lips. Shaking his head, the armor wondered if she had really called him all this way to kill him. "Then stand up, you stupid!" Laughing, he stood and brushed the dirt off of his pants, embarrassed. She was the same, he reminded himself, no different than the Arya he had known before. Best not to treat her like a lady. She would kill him for real, then.

"I missed you," she said simply, drawing his attention back to her. "A little bit, that's it though. I love Sansa, and Sandor, he grows on you, but without Brann and Rickon and Robb and Jon...how's Jon?" Gendry wanted to say that he had missed her too, that he thought about her lots down South in King's Landing, but she had asked about her bastard brother, now ruling at the side of the Dragon Queen, and he had missed his chance. _Another time, _he promised himself. She knew he had missed her anyways, he had told her as such in one of his occasional ravens he would send North along with words from her brother.

"Well," he said, for that was the simple truth. Jon Snow, main love of the Queen and one of the greatest warriors in all the Kingdoms, was near as well as a man could get. "Misses you, though. Can't blame him, either. Loves his Queen, longs for his family. He sends you his best, m'la...Arya. Tells you he's to come North to visit soon as the Dragon Mother feels it fit to go." She seemed to lighten even more at this news, but another thought quickly grasped her attention and she grabbed his wrist before he could walk further.

A simple touch. Friendly,_ innocent_. He should make nothing of it, he knew, but when Arya's hand clutched Gendry's wrist he felt something beyond his normal range of emotion. It frightened him, so he tore his hand away as quickly as she had snatched it, but she seemed not to notice.

"I must show you something," she whispered, nearly breathless for excitement. Breaking off into a quick sprint in the opposite direction, she turned her head behind for a second to face him before calling out, "_Follow me!_"

And so he did, as he feared he would end up doing for all his life.


End file.
